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#January 6 insurrection#jan 6#capital insurrection#capital hill breach#rudy giuliani#trump#2020 election#election2020#january 6 hearing
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disappointment anon, i didnt actually know you could create spirit doors i thought i just had to hope that the spirits heard me after i called them to me because i dont have clairsenses or good divination.. LOL but thank you for that post that was extremely helpful :)
Hi! In Traditional Witchcraft and other related practices, I think I especially want to say Fairy Faith, the idea that the practitioner has the ability to find, capitalize on, or simply create portals, gateways, and roads into the spirit world is a dominant theme.
The only time I ever see this referenced in 101 stuff is casting a circle! The concept in Traditional Witchcraft is more or less the same as a Wiccan circle, but we call it a compass. If a lot of your education is coming from online sources, you may be unaware that a primary function of a magic circle is to "join the worlds" and, as Kelden puts it,
On a deeper level, though, and most central to Traditional Witchcraft, the compass is a liminal place, a doorway through which we can enter into the Otherworld.
On one hand, the word compass is synonymous with the word circle, but it also denotes the well-known navigational tool used in travel. This second meaning makes a lot of sense in the context that Traditional Witches use the compass round to navigate and traverse the different realms.
Kelden, The Crooked Path, 2020 (emphasis my own)
For a spirit-working witch, the skill of learning where to find spirits and how to reliably call them is a skill which I believe is separate from brokering deals. I also believe that working with these gateways is probably a fundamental skill of witchcraft.
The witch has many tools at their disposal for creating gateways into the spirit world and walking back and forth between this world and the next, with new knowledge, allies, and powers.
Some of these gateways are physical locations, each of which may lead to a different place in the otherworld, or make it easier or more difficult to access certain powers.
A small, secluded cave half-filled with water at the bottom of a steep riverbank may be the ideal location to enter the Underworld, or commune with chthonic powers.
A tiny thicket formed by the arch of a rosemary bush where it tangles with the branches of a thorny rose may be an excellent location to leave tiny gifts for the Greenwood and commune with the green folk.
Much more accessible for many of us is indeed just the concept of crossroads, either a 4-way X or a 3-way T. These locations are long famed for being the meeting places of spirits, or ideal locations to leave offerings or broker spirit deals. The Devil Himself is often said to be haunting just such remote crossroads.
But these gateways don't just have to be found. The witch has the power to create them.
Exhibit A - casting a circle (or more accurately to say, laying a compass).
Also, I believe the creation of a spellcasting altar, if properly magicked and tended to, begins to become liminal in and of itself - it literally becomes a doorway to the otherworlds.
Certain human-made locations, like gas stations and grocery stores, are often considered to be gateways and have been used by some practitioners to fulfill spellwork.
Various charms and talismans can assist with creating doorways navigating the liminal, most famously the Holey or Hag stone.
Robin Artisson details several methods of understanding, discovering, creating, and working with such doorways, I believe in Witching Way of Hollow Hill, but especially in An Carow Gwyn, in the section called The Breaching Charms: The Gateways into Sorcerous Experience.
Daniel Schulke, at least in Viridarium Umbris, provides several sigils and charms for obtaining entrance into the otherworld.
Roger J Horne, in A Broom at Midnight, details thirteen "gateways" to spirit flight. While these are specifically methods of entering astral travel, any student of the concept of gateways and doors within witchcraft I think would benefit from studying the rituals within.
Speaking of astral travel, many common methods espoused include imagining that a person is climbing down the roots of a tree, or inside of the trunk of a tree and floating down like an elevator; or going down a well. All of these things are analogous to (or, the same thing as) mentally seeking out a gateway to the otherworld, searching in mental constructs of places in nature where gateways are commonly found or believed to be found.
Indeed, the concept of roads, gates, thresholds, and doors, is (I think) a vital contemplation to the understanding of Witchcraft itself, and it is upon these bedrocks that a great deal of witchcraft has been built.
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See How Deep the Bullet Lies
Whumpuary2024, Day 25 - Prompt: Left to Die
Shepard fights overwhelming odds on Elysium
AO3 Here
It was winter on Elysium and the wind nipped at Shepard's skin as she trekked up the hill to the shop opposite the space port. Most of the marines she had shipped in with were taking their shore leave in Illyria, the capital city, but she had taken a short-range shuttle to somewhere a little sleepier. Elysium was a tourist spot first and a colony second, and ever since she had escaped Earth Shepard had appreciated the quieter spots away from the bustle of city life. Agron was a worker town - a little grimy, a little shabby, a little rough around the edges - with construction contracts for the Grissom space station in high orbit above. It was just a frame at the moment, but even that had looked impressive on the viewscreen of the marine dropship as it teakettled past.
The bell over the door jingled and the shopkeeper, Duresh, looked up and smiled.
"Hello again, Service Chief Shepard!" he said, spreading his arms wide. "Your usual?"
Shepard made a face - she hadn't realised quite how much she'd been drinking. "Sure," she said, and Duresh handed over a bottle of Illyrian whiskey and a box of strawberry doughnuts. The jam was synthetic, there was no way she could afford real fruit, but there was something unique about the compounds they used in Agron that Shepard really liked. She was walking towards the door when she heard the rumble overhead and paused. It wasn't an Alliance drive signature, and it was too big to be one of the automated shipping drones.
"Is something wrong, Chief?" Duresh asked. Shepard reached into her coat for her service weapon, and then a shockwave blasted the glass out of the shop windows and knocked her off her feet.
*
The Agron spaceport fell in the first wave. There was nobody to defend it from the stream of batarian raiders pouring out of the landing craft, just civilians they either killed or captured. Shepard had managed to briefly make contact with the SSV Agincourt but all she learned was information she already knew: most of the fighting was concentrated in Illyria, she was the only Alliance presence in the area, and she had to stop the batarians from sabotaging the factories and turning the whole place to radioactive slag. She wasn't trained for it, but she rallied the workers and their families, armed them with guns she took from the slavers she killed, and made her way to the factory district. Shepard and her slapped-together unit had a head-start and the batarians were stopping to make slave grabs as they went, which gave them enough time to reinforce the security already in place.
If not for the paranoia of the manufacturing firms set up there, Shepard wasn't sure they would have much of a chance defending it. Most factories on colony worlds were built for efficiency, which made them easy military targets, but Agron's construction centres had been built into the side of a mountain to protect them from orbital and air strikes, and the administration buildings created a maze of chokepoints Shepard could use to trap or redirect batarian forces. It was a good plan. She just hoped her civilians could keep their nerve until the Agincourt could deploy reinforcements.
A good officer would lead from the rear - establish a command and control centre in the most defensible location and issue orders to the rest of her unit from there. Shepard wasn't cut out for an officer position. Instead, she was at the mouth of Breach 1 - the first of the two bottlenecks in their line the batarians would be forced through. They came with a stronger force than Shepard had hoped but they managed to hold them for almost as long as she had expected, peppering them with small arms fire from the buildings and the street. There were only ten of them there, but they killed at least that many batarians before the invaders realised they could force their way into the buildings too. Once they had their own snipers in position, Shepard ordered a retreat. She was too late to save two of her civilians, but she told herself to mourn later. The batarians were on them as soon as they broke cover, and Shepard's makeshift barrier tech wouldn't stand up to their weapons for long.
"Close Breach 1," Shepard ordered, as bullets tore chunks out of the concrete walls around her. It was another gift from the corporations: a three-foot thick metal traffic barrier meant to ward off rioters. It wouldn't keep the batarians out for long, but it would slow them down long enough for the civilians to regroup at Breach 2. Shepard didn't look back until she had hopped the barricade that made up the second chokepoint. It was the main entrance to the core factory complex, which they had shored up by dragging every piece of furniture out of every building nearby. Shepard was confident it would stand up to anything short of a tank, at least for a while.
"Chief Shepard," Duresh said as she slid into cover beside him. His knuckles were white around the grip of the batarian rifle he was clutching. "Are we… doing alright?"
Shepard checked the heat sink of her pistol and shook it a couple of times to dispel the excess. "Just fine, Duresh," she said without looking at him. There were a hundred or more batarian pirates on their way, and this time they knew to expect organised resistance. It was going to be bloody. "We're doing just fine."
The second chokepoint was a better position, and the battle raged for almost an hour. Shepard stayed right at the front, her finger aching from pulling the trigger and her arm burning from the amount of incendiary plasma she had launched from her omni-tool. The batarians had bunkered down in the buildings opposite the entrance and the fight turned into a vicious standstill, and Shepard realised too late what was happening.
The batarians had sent snipers back through the maze of streets and alleyways to look for other entrances. They had the luxury of time now, and they found routes that Shepard had missed. It took until nightfall, but their thermal scopes accounted for that.
Duresh was the first to die. It was a round from a kishock harpoon gun, a vicious barb that smashed through the shopkeeper's back, destroyed his ribs, and sprayed his blood all over Shepard. He was lucky that it had gone right through him instead of sticking: she had heard it took people hours to die of wounds like that.
"On our flank!" she screamed, but the other civilians were too horrified to react. Shepard hefted Duresh's rifle and fired it until it overheated, turning the corner of the building she was sure the shot had come from into a cloud of dust. If she hadn't hit the slaver, at the very least they were blinded for now. It was too late to help though: the spell of her command was broken, the civilians had seen too much. They weren't ready to see a man cut in half, and they bolted. Half of them dropped their guns and the other half fired them wildly behind them, forcing Shepard to curl into a ball and hope they didn't hit her.
If she stayed down, the batarians would pick them off. If she ran with them, they'd kill her too. She hurried, crawling on her elbows, to the edge of the barricade where the civvies were less likely to hit her, and propped her rifle against the edge of the wall. Her suppressing fire was more accurate than the fleeing civilians could manage, and she even managed to kill a sniper in a third floor window. But her luck couldn't last forever. There was nobody to watch her back. She didn't want to believe they'd abandoned her, but she was alone against impossible odds now. It was just a matter of what bullet killed her.
It was a spear from a kishock, fired from the building next to her. Shepard ducked her head at the last second, which was the only reason it didn't pass straight through the top of her head and kill her instantly - instead, it slashed across her face, and she felt it burn her skin and sear her flesh. The scream she let out didn't sound human to her own ears, and the pain was indescribable. It felt like her head had cracked open and her brain was being forced out of the gap in her skull. Her hands were too numb to hold a weapon any more and her body could only writhe and howl on the frozen ground. Dimly, she was aware of the shooting dying down around her, and soon there would be a batarian boot on her neck and an executioner's pistol against the back of her skull. The peace of death would be a blessing now, but she wasn't prepared to stop hurting just yet.
It was agony, but she forced herself to crawl. Her eyes were sealed shut by the blood pouring out of her shattered head so she wasn't even sure she was going the right way, but if there was a chance at survival she was going to take it. The pain was so intense it took her a moment to remember how to talk instead of just scream, but she could just make out batarian speech behind her and knew it was time. If she was clear, there was a chance a medic could save her life, if not her face. If not, then at least she'd take some of the bastards with her.
"Close Breach 2," she managed to gurgle into her omni-tool. One of the factory workers had brought out some mining charges when they were setting up their barricade, and Shepard had laid them along the line they had made. Behind her blood-sealed eyes, Shepard was briefly aware of a blinding white hot flash and then… silence.
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it's called freefall (you can let it all go)
Sometimes you're deep in your Top Gun obsession and you also happen to be listening to a podcast reviewing House of the Dragon (which you haven't seen) and things happen and now Ice and Maverick have dragons. A huge thank you to @hangsters who continues to be my most favourite person <3
Please reblog and comment over on Ao3 if you enjoy this!
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People said a lot of dragon riders.
They said they could talk to their dragons with their minds. They said they felt pain when their mounts did, that the two of them shared one soul and the death of one would bring the death of the other. They said dark magics were performed on them at birth, to strip them of all desire, take away their human needs and the associated body parts so they could bind them inextricably to their duty. They said they were cursed, that the gods spat at their attempts to breach the heavens and pulled them down for it.
And of course they said they were mad.
Tom supposed he wasn’t doing much to dissuade them of that one at least, standing on the balcony of the Crooked Tail tower nearly every night and staring up at the sky. He’d heard serving girls and grooms whispering, though they shut up quickly when they heard the clink of the light armour he never took off. All the usual horseshit, longing for a love lost when he took up his scales, going sky blind from too much time in the air, listening for calls in the secret dragon language. Tom wondered how people told such wild myths of men who used the same bathouses as they did.
Though maybe he was mad. The thought at least crossed his mind, as he watched the sun sink into the grasp of the capital’s many towers, draining through those crooked stone and timber fingers and leaving night behind. But none of the shadowy clouds up there were shifting, none of the stars winked as something passed over them. Maverick hadn’t returned.
Tom sighed, knowing he was high enough that none of the people threading through the narrow, crowded streets below would hear him. The Crooked Tail tower might list like a drunk against a wall but it at least gave the dragonriders who lived there a bit of privacy in a very crowded city where that was hard to come by. Tom could stand here, able to stare up into the endless sky and let the noise of the rest of the world fall away, like none of it existed, inside the curtain walls of the castle or outside it. And he would, gladly, if there were not that voice missing behind him, where the other riders laughed over cards and hurled jokes back and forth.
Tom knew what he should do. He should turn around and join them, integrate himself with the men he wanted to lead some day. Even if he wasn’t entirely sure why leading them mattered to him. Those men were his brothers, the only ones he’d ever have, the only ones who had a chance of understanding him. He knew he should go and laugh with them, drink a cup of wine and work on letting himself be comfortable around them.
But Tom also knew what he was actually going to do. So maybe he was mad after all.
No one tried to stop him, not the other riders who perhaps knew more than they would admit, not the guards on the main gate as he rode past them, not the people on the street, nobles or merchants or humbler city folk. Being known for a cold unapproachable nature had some benefits to it.
The keepers at the dragon pits were even less likely to stand in his way, as Tom rode through gates designed specifically to look blackened and half melted, up to the enormous stone colosseum like structure on the highest hill in the whole city. People who worked with them every day, who cared for them in the strange way you could with something you feared so deeply, they’d never keep a rider from their mount, whatever the hour of the day.
The pits didn’t look like a place anything would enjoy living. It was dark and imposing, an undeniable dungeon so thick black stone and heavy iron chain curtains, the wall sconces kept low so the sight of flame didn’t excite any of the younger residents, projecting every movement up the high walls in shadow. It was dank too, cold water running through the walls like blood in a stone giant, ready to burst forth with a well placed hammer strike if worst should come to worst. The smells of damp and raw meat and smoke were inescapable, clinging to the stone like the layers of soot caked into the mortar. And of course, every so often, there would come a noise that could have been the earth shifting and breaking open, echoing eerily through the labyrinth so it felt like the walls were caving in,
It made for a dismal, gloomy home for any living creature. But then dragons were unlike any other living creature in the world.
Tom knew these dripping, cavernous corridors the way any other man would know the home he grew up in. Without thinking, his feet took him to the largest of the pits, the oldest, the ones built to house the dragons of old who grew to sizes where their wings could eclipse the sun over a whole city.
There was only one dragon still alive who was growing to rival them.
Tom walked through the enormous doors, familiar with their deep, low groan as tons of steel and stone cracked open enough to let him pass. They closed behind him much swifter than they’d managed to open, as if in panic. Tom understood.
It seemed as though the vast pit in front of him was full of nothing but shadow and a slow, echoing drip. But Tom smiled all the same.
“Suivon?” he kept his voice soft, knowing it would echo, knowing she would hear, “Come on. We’ve got a job to do.”
And she did. One of the shadows high above him detached, unfurled, swelled in size as it broke through the others. There was a single shaft of moonlight coming in through the grate in the ceiling and as the shadow passed, it turned to brilliant white.
As it always did, the sight widened Tom’s smile into a grin. The dragon rider all had titles of some kind, the way many traditional knights did when they gained some renown. His was The Iceman and of course people would insist it had nothing to do with his personality in the slightest, however apt it had ended up being.
And Tom could hardly challenge them on that, when he rode Suivon, The Dread Blizzard.
A tremor ran through the ground as she landed before him, a towering wall of brilliant white scale that relaxed into the form of the biggest dragon the world knew, enormous black iron claws each as long as Tom himself, tail that unfurled out and out and out, bristling, ice blue points until eventually it came to a dagger sharp point. Those jagged icicles continued up her spine as well and into a crest that looked like a crown about her craggy head, the tip of each wickedly sharp enough that they could, and had, impaled a man. Her face was spiderwebbed in brilliant blue cracks, like ice breaking to show water beneath, ones that could also be seen when she let her phenomenal wings loose. She looked like something that had pulled itself free of an icy mountainside, something wholly natural, cold and uncaring and old as the earth.
And when she brought her head down to Tom’s level, when she opened her mouth to show row upon row of shining white teeth and blackness between, he laughed.
“Don’t give me that look now. It’s hardly past your bedtime.”
Suivon made a noise that might have been a growl but was just enough of a purr, the noise trembling the loose stones on the floor. Tom smiled, stepping towards her and resting his hand on her snout, feeling the unexpected heat of her, her exhales sending a warm, wet gale blowing around him.
“I know, I know…” he soothed, his voice lost beneath her rough, admonishing purr and yet Tom never doubted she could hear him, “But it’s Maverick.”
Suivon gave a huff, the sudden gust nearly blowing him back.
Tom felt his cheeks warm, “Hush. We’re going. You owe me for those two extra sheep carcasses at dinner today.”
He ignored her irritated grumble, resting his forehead on her warm scales for a second before moving to climb onto her back, like scaling a steep hill that breathed. He slid his lobstered gauntlets into the locks on the harness, settling comfortably into the crouched stance between her wing joints that he’d been practising and perfecting since he was a child.
“Come on,” he inhaled deeply, matching his breathing to the beast already stretching and shifting eagerly despite her minor tantrum, “Let’s go drag him home…”
He dug his heels in and Suivon responded, their bond had long grown past the verbal commands. She extended her neck fully and exhaled three short bursts of flame that gouted up the throat of the pit and through the grate at the top. The signal to open. Within moments, Tom heard the creaking of that massive metal grinding to one side, some keeper having seen their command. Suivon gave a chirp and began skittering up the walls towards the moon. When she was right at the mouth, she leapt, wings snapping open with a sound like the sails of a warship, carrying them effortlessly into the air.
The lights and smoke and noise of the city fell away so quickly as they escaped up into the night. Like always, Tom couldn’t help but feel the weights he carried were left behind too, the frustrating wall between himself and everyone else, the pressure to be the perfect knight and the perfect dragon rider, the need to look as though he’d stepped straight out of a tale of heroism and chivalry so no one looked any closer. He never felt like The Iceman when he was on Suivon’s back and racing the moon across the sky. He wasn’t sure he even felt like Tom. Things like that just stopped mattering and he simply felt like someone who could breathe.
He pulled Suivon gently into a slow, mid air roll, wings tucked tight then snapping out, propelling them low across the sea the capital city was backed by. The air currents stirred by the roiling, inky waves buoyed them easily like a sea of its own kind, Suivon only beating her wings because she liked to feel the salt spray on them. She even dipped down enough to let one of her dagger-like claws cut through the water, rising and falling with the swell of the waves as they grew tall as houses that collapsed down into deep valleys, following this restless horizon closely. Tom laughed, the spray harsh on his face, enough to sting, but in a way that woke his nerves up and made his heart beat faster. He gave Suivon her head, letting her duck and roll and chase the waves, never once trying to pull her up into safer air. They didn’t ride the dragons for safety.
And besides, they both knew where they were going.
There were a myriad of rocky islands scattered throughout the sea, the frayed edge of the continent. Most were small enough for a gull or two to make their home, some even smaller, only a handful were large enough to support caves, spires, colonies of seals. But only the sailors and the dragon riders knew that further out they grew bigger, large enough to be bolt holes for pirates and smugglers, places to swim for if you were shipwrecked or if you didn’t want to be found.
So it was these Tom steered Suivon towards, not that she needed much direction. This was a route they were familiar with.
The largest of these islands was surprisingly empty of any sailors, legal or illegal, mostly because it was hard to reach. The water around it was famous for riptides and snags and other invisible dangers, hidden rocks that were actually the spires of sunken islands, ready to rip out the belly of passing ships, and of course there was a ghost or two if you believed the tales. So it was useless to the pirates but perfect for a dragon rider who was staying out past curfew.
Or two dragon riders who just wanted to get out of the city.
Suivon glided easily over those waters that would prove deadly to any ship, circling the island a few times as she drew lower. But, almost instantly, she wasn’t the only thing in the air. With a loud, raspy cry, another dragon leapt from the rocks and joined her, to neither Suivon or Tom’s surprise.
Udrayatis was Suivon’s opposite in every way. Inky black instead of bright white, small and lightning quick instead of formidable, always chittering and squawking instead of the stony silence. When she took to the air, she immediately began flying about the larger dragon’s face, turning like an acrobat in a mummer’s show, rolling and showing off. Tom immediately felt Suivon stiffen with haughty disapproval, forcing him to hold back a laugh.
Though they were opposites, the dragons had one thing in common. Their names suited them well. Suivon was the Old Tongue word for ice, Tom having been apparently struck by a chronic lack of imagination when a snow white, unusually large dragonling had broken free of the egg he’d chosen as a boy. While Udrayatis, born a little twisted and so small it was feared she wouldn’t survive, her name had come after her rider disappeared into books for days, thinking on it for longer than he’d ever given any decision. Tom could still remember the delighted grin on Pete’s young face as he’d told him the word meant rule breaker. And, sure enough, she kept to that name, stubbornly surviving and growing to take a rider when it had seemed impossible.
Tom rolled his eyes and squeezed his heels, urging Suivon down before she decided to take a snap at the other dragon. With a growl and a gout of smoke from her nostrils, she obeyed, though not before not so accidentally letting her tail whip at Udrayatis and sending the black dragon tumbling and shrieking.
“That wasn’t nice,” Tom admonished gently, as his mount settled on the rocky outcrop at the edge of the island.
Suivon grumbled, narrowing her eyes at Udrayatis and apparently not caring whether it was nice or not. Though, as he always had, Tom suspected her dislike was a little feigned, an act that was wearing slightly thin as the two dragons grew up together.
And he had to say he empathised with her.
Tom unlocked his gauntlets and slid gracefully down Suivon’s mighty back, sighing down at the young man now stood grinning up at him with a smile. Ink black hair instead of light blonde. Small and lightning quick rather than tall and broad. Mouth endlessly running, even when it shouldn’t rather than taciturn and distant. Constantly forgetting his duty rather than being unable to let go of it.
In some ways, dragon riders were supposed to forget any life they could have had before they entered the order. The titles helped with that, distancing them from the names they were given, from anyone who might have cared for them before they took to the air, from any other path they might have taken. And no rider clung to their title more fiercely, lived it more fully, than The Maverick.
How a man could look so dangerous while standing there in nothing but trousers and an unlaced shirt billowing in the wind, Tom didn’t know.
“You were supposed to be back at the tower by now,” he called down, trying to keep some tone of a future commander in his voice.
Maverick laughed, his smile not dimming even slightly, “I could say the same to you, Ice!”
Tom tilted his head, “And I assume there’s no way to convince you to come back with me?”
“Well why would I want to go back now?” he grinned wider. He couldn’t see from this height but Tom knew there were creases around those dark, playful eyes, “You’re here!”
Tom also knew that Maverick shouldn’t be able to see the way his ears reddened at the tips. But he had a feeling he knew regardless.
His resolve was clinging by a thread by the time he climbed down the rock, “I don’t know how we’re going to explain this…”
Mav was perched, cross legged, on a boulder by then, happy to lounge as Tom descended a few feet of wet rock, “Giving the girls some air. Scouting to the east. Extra patrols. Gods know we need them with the corsairs massing on the coast. I’m sure you’ll think of something to tell them, Iceman.”
“I can’t tell them that every night, can I?” Tom prickled a little at the use of his title. Whenever Maverick said it, it always seemed as though he was poking fun, like he knew how poor it fit him, “They will start to suspect something, even more than they already do.”
“Well…” Maverick’s eyes danced with a light that wasn’t there, a light he seemed to conjure up all by himself, “We don’t need to steal away every night, I suppose…”
Tom had reached him by that point and without another word he pulled the smaller rider into his arms, crushing him into a kiss fierce with need, longing and no small amount of desire to just shut Maverick up for a moment. He responded instantly, wiry strong arms wrapping around his shoulders, triumph and challenge on his lips.
“That’s not happening,” Tom murmured, voice rough with how long he’d made himself go without air.
“Thought as much,” Maverick grinned, dragging him back in.
The first time they’d kissed, nearly a year ago now, Tom had only felt fear, panic, the sense of falling like he’d slipped off Suivon’s back too far from the ground. All he could think of was what would happen if they were caught, the shame, the inevitable execution for breaking their oaths and with another man, no less. Condemnation from men and gods alike.
But he’d done it again. Because even that was better than going another day with that need burning inside him.
That feeling, that voice, it had grown quieter each time, Tom had gotten better at recognising that it wasn’t his own. Of course there were still the nights where it found him again, usually when he was alone in his cell and trying to fall asleep, when Suivon was far from him and Maverick was too damn close. Though it had shifted, it was no longer they’ll all see you, they’ll all know. It was they’ll take him from you and they’ll kill him.
But it all felt far away right now, lost in the roar in his ears that might have been the crashing waves and might have been the blood rushing through him. He kissed Maverick harder, hands coming up to hold his face.
“Easy,” Maverick laughed into his mouth, shuddering a little at the touch of the cold steel, “You’ll leave marks…”
Tom withdrew his hands, sighing as he began to shed his black iron armour, “Well, look at you, out here in your shirtsleeves. I’ve told you, Maverick, if you fall-”
“I’ll be killed and there’ll be nothing a tonne of steel can do to change it,” he stole the end of his sentence, helping him unbuckle his breastplate, “Udrayatis hates the weight anyway, it slows her down.”
Tom would remind his fellow rider that his dragon was no longer the sickly, struggling thing he’d nursed so diligently, so much that Tom had found him asleep in the pit’s nursery more than once. He would point out that risking a broken neck at lower heights for the sake of having the fastest dragon in the sky was idiocy. But he knew Maverick too well to do either of those things.
So he just kissed him again, pressing close into the other man’s warmth as layers of steel fell away to let the cold air in. With the speed and skill of the best of squires, he had him down to his linens and quickly drew him over to the cave mouth they’d made use of since they started whatever this arrangement was. The moment they took that first step away, Suivon began to growl, like those handful of inches more were simply unacceptable.
Maverick gave a coy smile and drew away from the other man’s lips reluctantly, “She still doesn’t like me, does she?”
Tom sighed, “She’s just protective…” He glanced back, trying not to think about how his dragon saw Maverick as something she needed to protect him from.
Suivon was still on her rocky perch, staying where she’d been told to stay, obedient as ever but doing it with very little grace, eyes narrowed and horns raised and teeth bared. Tom squeezed Maverick’s arm and walked back to her a little ways, standing firm.
“It’s fine,” he called into the wind, putting the edge of command in his voice, “Go fly, go hunt. I’m safe.”
Suivon shivered unhappily, eyeing Udrayatis disdainfully as she cartwheeled up above, snapping at gulls. With a hard rush of smoke from her nostrils that made plain what she thought of his command, she took to the air, out over the sea on a few beats of her heavy wings. Undeterred, Udrayathis gave a loud shriek of delight and shot after her like a black bolt from a crossbow, apparently eager to show her the gull she’d snagged on her onyx teeth. The dark shadow chased the white across the rising and crumbling waves until they disappeared amidst the swell.
“You know,” Maverick observed lightly, running fingers through his hair to sweep away the sea spray gathering in it, “We raise our dragons from eggs. We take care of them, we feed them and we teach them to fly. And yet somehow, Suivon sees herself as your mother.”
Ice shouldered him gently, rolling his eyes, “Let’s not think on that too deeply…not when there are much better things to do…”
He took the initiative then, catching the smaller man’s hand and drawing him in smoothly like they were at a court dance, other hand alighting on his waist. His kiss interrupted a purr of delight from Maverick, who bent into his embrace willingly. The wind had long since pulled Maverick’s shirt from his belt and Tom took advantage, sliding his hand up and under, against skin that shivered too his touch.
“You’re freezing,” he murmured in the desperate snatch of air between one kiss and the next.
“Getting less so…” Maverick smirked, taking the chance to nip at his lip, “But I take your point.”
He drew him towards the nearest cave mouth, a place that looked yawning and uninviting, all black stone, stalactites and stalagmites like rows of spiny teeth. But it was familiar to them, even when the rocky mouth swallowed them and left the moon behind, he still knew where to step in the gloom. They went further down the gullet until the wind and rain grew quiet, replaced with rhythmic dripping from a ceiling closer than was comfortable, soft trickling from hidden rivers that had never seen the sun. The walls shrank around them, forcing Tom to bend. Just at the point when the tightness became unbearable, when apprehension would tip over into fear and panic, there came that breath of air, a current in the stillness. Tom squeezed Maverick’s hand and let himself be pulled forward, having to crawl for a moment though he never let go, until they came to a vast, sudden emptiness and a strange light.
It took a moment for Tom’s eyes and mind to adjust, it always had. To let himself believe he actually was seeing what he thought he was seeing, to accept the impossible scene. The moss or fungus or whatever it was that grew along the walls of their hidden cave held its own, eerie light, a dim green that carpeted the floor and crawled up the walls, making it look and feel like they’d crossed some veil into a different world. And it wasn’t just the walls, the pool that steamed with impossible heat towards the back of the cave, somehow warm as a man’s blood, was alive with light too. It was a cool blueness that would shift and swirl when they put a hand in it, like motes of light were suspended in the otherwise inky waters. Maverick had sworn that he’d seen fish in there that also shone, eel things that moved like lightning across the sky, though Tom would wait until he saw them with his own eyes to truly believe that.
Tom inhaled, letting himself sink into the cool, damp, fresh scent of the place while Maverick went off to strike flint against the obsidian walls and light some of the candles they’d smuggled down here when they realised this was a place they’d visit frequently. They’d brought other comforts too, some blankets Tom neatly draped on stalagmites to keep them out of the damp, a few bottles of summer wine from the city markets, a smaller bottle of oil purchased much more secretively from a brothel on the Street of Silk. There were even some books, piled up safely away from the water, Tom insisting that it was hard to concentrate back in the Crooked Tail tower with the snoring of their fellow riders.
Altogether, it made this dim and dripping cave more of a home than either of them had ever known. It meant Tom was smiling as the warm candlelight spread, even though he knew it would be hard to explain their absence, even though he knew the risks they were taking.
Maverick wasn’t in the mood to waste time, sweeping his shirt up over his head and beckoning him over to the pools.
“Come on,” he grinned, his smile beckoning, “You stink from the ride over…”
“Is that supposed to be seductive?” Tom laughed, undressing too, “You’d made a terrible whore, shouting that down from a balcony.”
“I’d make a fantastic whore,” Maverick feigned woundedness, kicking away his riding trousers, “Though I suppose I wouldn’t be a rich one…”
“Why is that?” Thomas eyed him, letting himself be generous with his gaze, up and down Maverick’s tight, lithely muscled body. Clinging to a dragon’s back for ten hours a day did wonderful things for a man’s form, the lot of them were as strong as any knight.
“Well, I’d only have one client, wouldn’t I?” The lightness in his voice told Tom he knew he was staring, that he was enjoying it immensely, “You.”
He bent and slid into the pool, with none of his usual reckless abandon, like even he understood it would be sacrilegious to disturb these glowing waters. Once in them, up to the waist in iridescent, shining water, he looked like something mythical, like some elf king out of a storybook. Or like some tempting trickster god, a siren ready to reach out and snag a passing sailor.
Tom was more than willing to be snagged. He finally stripped off the last of his clothing, the cold, hard rock under his feet softened slightly by the glowing lichen, the thin sheen of that oddly warm water. All of the chill from the ride and the sea melted helplessly before it, reigniting his nerves, bringing life back into his limbs.
Maverick made a chase of it, sliding back to the very edge of the pool, making Tom come after him simply because he could. Grinning, Tom hunted him down, caught him about the waist, pressing him against the far wall and pinning him under a fierce kiss.
“Gods, Ice…” Maverick breathed, his voice a tremble, a wisp of breath unlike his hands which closed tight as a trap around the taller man’s shoulders.
Tom showed no more restraint, hands slipping down to grip Maverick’s hips, his thighs, feeling that dizziness that usually only came with being miles above the ground. Kissing him was like taking flight, that same sense of freedom and danger all at once, woven together so tightly it was impossible to know one from the other. Knowing you could fall and believing you wouldn’t, letting something so much stronger and more powerful than you take hold and run wild.
Before long, Maverick’s collarbone was covered in bite marks, thankfully all well below where his armour would cover, and he was begging shamelessly, “Please, Ice…please…”
“Please what?” Tom growled against the hollow of his throat, that edge of a command in his voice again, for no other reason than to hear the words.
“Fuck me,” Maverick gasped, voice heavy with need, his nails raking thin white lines on Tom’s shoulders.
The plea worked as well as the command. Tom’s hand reached for the second of those little red glass bottles, the one they rested in a convenient divot in the cave wall just by the pool. The stuff inside was thick and filled the air with a fresh, grassy scent, cool on Tom’s fingertips, even cooler when he reached below the water and pressed it against Maverick, into the crease in his body. He jolted in response, grinding down into it hungrily with a wanton groan.
“Easy now…” Tom gasped, taking his earlobe between his teeth.
“You take so damn long,” Maverick whined, fighting to keep his hips still though he didn’t seem entirely in control of himself, “Fuck…”
“I take long so I don’t break you,” he punctuated his words by sliding his fingers in deeper, more suddenly, making Maverick kick and yelp.
Through gritted teeth, he gasped, “Who says I don’t want to be broken?”
Tom had to laugh at that, working two fingers in and out of him, feeling those strong, wiry legs wrap around his hips so he could take him deeper, “Let’s see what I can do…”
More oil in his palm, this time along his own length, already hard and hot in his hand. He rose out of the water a little to slick himself and Maverick groaned at the sight of it, as though they hadn’t been doing this for a year, as though they hadn’t shared a bathhouse since they were boys. As though even now, even as he knew him inside and out, better than anyone ever had, Maverick still found something beautiful in him.
“Take me,” Maverick’s voice was raw, desperate, his eyes so wide and dark that Tom felt he could pitch forward and fall into them.
He answered with a kiss, with hands tight on Maverick’s hips, lifting him enough that he could begin the slow roll and press into his body. He swallowed the high, fractured cry Maverick gave at the stretch and burn of it, pushing beyond into the closeness, the dizzyingly sweet blurring of their two selves.
“More, more, yes, fuck, oh fuck, yes-” Maverick rambled in senseless want, heels pressing into the small of Tom’s back, both body and voice willing him deeper until he just couldn’t.
So Tom moved, bracing himself on the cool rock under his feet, one hand on the slick, black wall, the other around Maverick’s back. Like the waves somewhere up there, he rocked, gentle at first but then harder at a pleading whine from his lover, a press of those heels. Growling deep in his chest, he slowly gave everything he had, every ounce of strength in his body, to Maverick, fucking into him then drawing all the way back, only to surge forward again and make him scream. Tom lost all sense of time, of place, everything in the world becoming him and Maverick and the dense, tangled forest of their joined nerves, that soaring feeling. It was like flying. It was like falling.
It came apart too soon, too suddenly. Tom broke first, hips stuttering, a low, throaty moan torn out of him as he spilled his heat deep inside Maverick. He took his lover down with him, a shriek of his name echoing off the cave walls as his release hit him hard. The landing at least was easier than a fall from dragonback, the tension unwinding and leaving the two of them panting softly, last embers burning out in each other’s arms.
“Tom…” Maverick murmured, voice weak, pressing soft, feather light kisses against his neck, “I’ve got you…it’s alright…”
Tom burrowed into his arms, feeling the broken pieces of himself rattling loose inside his chest, letting Maverick’s gentle words, the soft fingers through his hair, slowly, painstakingly, fit them back together, “Pete…”
“I know,” Maverick whispered and for a moment, Tom could believe him. If Maverick couldn’t know, if he couldn’t understand, who would?
It was a long time before he could pull himself away, let them become two separate bodies again. Maverick was still smiling, those words they weren’t allowed to say plain in his eyes as he looked at Tom.
But fuck that. There was no one else to hear them.
“I love you, Pete,” Tom murmured, resting his forehead against his lover’s.
That smile broke through, like the sun coming out from behind the clouds, those creases in the corner of his eyes. “I love you too, Tom.”
They would have to leave the cave soon, they would have to whistle their dragons back to them and return to the city. They would have to take this thing they had, tuck it away, hide it in a chest and push it well out of sight.
But they could have another moment here, in their strange, safe, glowing world.
A moment was all they had.
#top gun#dragon rider au#icemav#tom kazansky#pete mitchell#iceman#maverick#tg86#tom iceman kazansky#pete maverick mitchell
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“Just breathe through it. It gets easier.”
Slipping up now wasn’t an option. Not when she was so close. Not when they were just at her heels. Making a name for herself was great and all for garnering help, driving off monsters just with her appearance.
It also made word of her location spread that much faster. And all the magic and sword skills in the world didn’t matter when at any moment a bounty hunter could strike. Followed by any number of glory chasers.
Which made the fact she’d just sustained what could charitably be called a “small gash” on her leg something of a problem.
Copper welled in her mouth as she grit her teeth, searching desperately for a cave- an outcropping- somewhere she could hide for the night so far from civilization. Time wasn’t her friend, hadn’t been for a while now. She’d steal whatever she could get though.
The fortunes smiled upon her briefly with a cave system, not too far up the side of a rocky hill, and not too obvious from the road below. Somewhere to dress her wounds. Maybe get some rest before making the trek somewhere with more resources. She’d be alright. For now at least.
Of course, sitting down proved trickier than planned, and the throbbing sensation in her leg distracted from her attempt to make as small a fire as possible. Light was easily hidden with magic, that she’d learned.
The warmth was nice, against the cold of the outside. If only her blood wasn’t also so warm against her leg. A constant drip that needed dealing with.
Unclasping the armor lessened the little pressure there was on the wound, and the small puddle below her calf soon grew, expanding outwards. Now that Helena could see it, the extent of it, she gagged, unable to look or look away from the crimson tear. Shining and wet in the light of the small fire that drew ever lengthening shadows across the walls.
It was too much- too much- despite having gored and slashed her way through creatures and beasts alike, pain and gore made her woozy, her trembling hands unable to get close enough to the seeping blood to clean it, let alone set it. Helena’s head swam, her breath labored. A cut on the leg, such a stupid way to go. Infection or blood loss or a swift arrow to the throat. A lovely array of options.
Gods, she wished her Nessa was here.
Helena let out a pitiful laugh, dying in the silence of the cave. She was the stronger of the two of them. By now, were she in Helena’s boots, she’d have fought her way across the entire continent, found the diadem, and raised an army. And here she was in a cave, too frightened to look at a wound.
Even more than that, she missed her gentle touch, even as she lovingly teased Helena in her weaker moments. Her weak constitution landing her fevered and bedridden more winters than most. Putting her in the hands of a more than capable, if snarky, nurse.
It’d gotten particularly bad 4 years ago, a Colhuan pestilence breaching the walls of the capital and laying waste to the whole city, Helena included. She’d told Nessa to stay away to keep herself safe but it’d… well. Between the aches, the fever, the vomiting, and the blurred lines between reality and dream, Helena was afraid. Nessa did her best to assuage that fear, not that her sickness addled brain comprehended it all that well.
“‘m sorry Nes- I don’t- ’s too much. Hurts. It hurts.“
The room spun and blurred, her body shaking with chills.
“I know Hel, I know. Just breathe through it,” the words came through a haze as a damp cloth dabbed at her feverish forehead, “It’ll get easier. Focus on just that, and you’ll be alright. I promise.”
“You sure,” she’d slurred back, “pinky swear?”
“Pinky swear.”
Helena held onto that memory, forcibly exhaling, then inhaling slowly. If her attempts hitched, well that was between her and the stones. She kept at it as she opened her eyes again and grabbed the roll of fabric and her small canteen of water.
“Breathe through it. Just- just keep breathing-“
Shit that water was cold. But it was fine, it was fine.
Wrap the leg (pretend it was someone else’s don’t think about it) nice and tight, but not too tight.
Eat some of the dried beef and cheeses to keep up strength, keep breathing.
Nessa wouldn't go unremembered or unavenged. This wouldn't be Helena's end.
She refused.
It was in that moment Helena remembered, through the strange mix of clarity and pain, that she'd used her magic to hide her fire. Maybe, if she tried...
In a flare of silver, the bleeding stopped. The wound still open, and hurting somewhat, but nowhere near as badly. It was a start.
She pulled out a blanket from her bag and doused the fire, curling inwards to rest. It still wasn't optimal, she wanted to be much farther along than this, but it was better than bleeding.
#melody rambles#my writing#celestial#still getting a feel for her#so we'll see how she evolves in future#thanks for the ask!#blood tw#injury tw#sickness tw
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On 7th May 1544 the Earl of Hertford who had landed an army at Leith days earlier, began what is known as The Burning of Edinburgh, marking the beginning of “The Rough Wooing”.
The Rough Wooing as an attempt the English made to force the marriage of King Henry VIII’S son Edward, to Mary, Queen of Scots.
This all started after Mary’s father James V lost the Battle of Solway Moss in November 1542. By all accounts there wasn’t a lot of bloodshed at the battle, the main outcome was over 100 “high value” prisoners were taken by the English, it was using these prisoners that Henry had a bargaining chip, but having said that the Scottish Reformation was now starting to gather pace and the Scots in general, well the nobility, were split into two factions, those loyal to the status quo and close ties with France i.e the Catholics, and those who wanted to forge closer relations with England, the Protestants.
James V had died within weeks of losing at Solway, and days after Mary Stewart was born, this left James Hamilton, Earl of Arran as Regent to the infant, Arran was initially all for this marriage and signed the Treaty of Greenwich in July 1543, which accorded a peace between the countries, Mary to marry Edward, it was also agreed that Arran’s son James would marry Princess Elizabeth, the daughter of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn.
Even though, as I said, some Scots supported the treaty, the Scottish Parliament renounced the Treaty of Greenwich in December 1543. Add to the mmi Arran dramatically switching sides after a meeting with Cardinal David Beaton and him agreeing to a rival plan to send the Scots queen to France to marry the dauphin, Francis.
Well of course Henry VIII, nit a man with the best of temperaments was furious and declared war that same month.
The English landed at Grantor on May 3rd and were met with very little resistance as they marched took Leith and encamped there until heavy artillery arrived on the 5th on more English ships, these guns were to be used against Edinburgh's gates and the castle.
The main English force approached Edinburgh on May 6th and were met by the Provost Adam Otterburn and two heralds. Otterburn offered to give up the keys of the town on conditions. Hertford refused to accept as he had no authority to bargain. An English herald went to the Castle, and returned with the news that the Earl of Huntly and Lord Home had brought 2000 horsemen to defend the town.
Hertford ordered his artillery up to the Canongate to Edinburgh's Netherbow Port, the east gate into the city. During this operation some of the English gunners were killed small arms fire and archers exchanged blows, but after three or four rounds, the gate was breached and the English army stormed through killing 300 to 400 defenders. They attempted to set their heavy artillery around the area we know as the Lawnmarket, on the way to Castle Hill, but the Scottish cannons from the castle easily picked them off, with that Hertford ordered a tactical retreat. At the end of that day, the English retired from the town to their camp at Leith after starting a number of fires.
On 7th May, they returned to the city starting more fire-raising and looting, Lord Hertford and his companions wrote that they watched Edinburgh burn from a hill beside the town and could hear "women and poor miserable creatures" crying out and blaming the Cardinal(Beaton). This may have been English propaganda, but they were known to have sent pro-English agents instructed to spread the word that the invasion was solely the fault of Cardinal Beaton, who was accused of leading Arran astray. The aim was to ferment anti-catholic feeling and bolster the protestant faction.
Contemporary accounts suggest every building in the capital, including Holyrood Abbey and the palace, was burnt. Only the castle held out against the invaders. Scottish artillery within the Castle harassed the English forces, who had neither the time nor the resources to besiege the Castle, their ships were filled with looted goods at Leith and sailed south in two ships that had belonged to James V of Scotland.
The English army retreated over land, burning villages as it went, so although Edinburgh faired the worst many other towns and villages were destroyed, including Craigmillar Castle, Musselburgh, Kinghorn, Haddington, Tranent, Dunbar, St Monans, South Queensferry, a part of Pittenweem and Burntisland
Although Edinburgh was not again threatened by the war, rebuilding was a slow process. New buildings were built on the exact site of their predecessors.
The Scots gained some revenge the following year at the battle of Ancrum Moor. An army led by Arran routed an English force, which had been marauding in the Borders. Mary was eventually sent to France in 1548, by this time the French had sent some troops over to help defend Leith, Arran with the backing of most of his nobles by this time, steadfastly refused to negotiate in any way.
A peace treaty between France and England in March 1550 effectively ended the conflict. A formal peace was agreed with Scotland the following year.
The phrase ‘Rough Wooing’ is thought to derive from a remark attributed to George Gordon, Earl of Huntly by Patrick Abercromby. “We liked not the manner of the wooing, and we could not stoop to being bullied into love.” This was popularised by the writings of Sir Walter Scott. By the mid-19th century the term had began to appear in history books, the conflict was originally known in Scotland as the Eight or Nine Year’s War.
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What do you get when you combine a local developer, an Ottawa city councilor, and $300,000 in cold, hard cash? A political maelstrom with the power to break the calm that this council has sought to foster.
In the same meeting where Mayor Mark Sutcliffe lauded the "professional and respectful tone" of this term — a stark contrast to his predecessor's fractious legacy — councilors threw down on an issue so explosive it seems incredulous that a veteran politician likes Coun. Shawn Menard would not have seen it coming.
The relationship between developers and councilors is a perennial source of consternation, whether through a charity golf tournament or the sticky issue of campaign donations. Yes, these "voluntary contributions" are their own thing. But they deserve the same degree of scrutiny.
Donations like the one pledged — and subsequently withdrawn — by Gatineau-based Groupe Katasa to Capital Ward are either a necessary community protection or an ethics breach, depending on where you stand. The debate has swung both ways on this one, with the money being alternately dubbed "exhortative" and a "windfall" — and that's by the same councilor.
Councilors and staff agree these donations are not new — city staff cites seven cases since 2018, though it's unclear exactly what type of contributions those entailed — and they're not against the rules. Because there are no rules.
The colorful council debate on this issue kicked off with Kanata South Coun. Allan Hubley called the donation "a bag of money being put on the table." Barrhaven West Coun. David Hill likewise expressed concern, poking at the deal's "opaqueness" and the "dangerous precedent" it would set for negotiations with developers in the future.
Then Coun. Matt Luloff raised the heat: "I have it on good authority that this developer felt pressured by this councilor to make this contribution," he claimed, labeling the contribution a "$300,000 slush fund." An insinuation? Or an accusation?
But the council chamber is not Las Vegas. And those words continue to resound through the social media echo chambers, spawning numerous hot takes. The political noise is now so dense the issue at the heart of the matter could be drowned out.
Stéphane Émard-Chabot feels it's "about time" the practice was thoroughly examined. The municipal lawyer and former city councilor said this kind of informal negotiation has been going on "for some he doesn't remember it existing when he represented a ward in pre-amalgamation Ottawa.
Councilors have already asked staff to bring them guidelines by the end of this year, though Sutcliffe later suggested the practice should be abolished altogether.
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Exploring the Beauty of Central California Coast: Most Scenic Areas
The Central California Coast boasts some of the most breathtaking and picturesque landscapes in the United States. Stretching from Santa Cruz to Santa Barbara, this region offers a stunning blend of rugged coastline, rolling hills, and pristine beaches. Whether you're a nature enthusiast, a photography buff, or simply seeking a serene escape from the daily grind, the Central California Coast has something for everyone. In this article, we'll take you on a journey through some of the most scenic areas in this remarkable region.
Big Sur: Nature's Masterpiece
Big Sur, often referred to as "Nature's Masterpiece," is undoubtedly one of the crown jewels of the Central California Coast. This rugged stretch of coastline offers awe-inspiring vistas at every turn. Towering cliffs, lush forests, and the majestic Bixby Creek Bridge combine to create a postcard-perfect scene. Be sure to hike along the McWay Falls Trail to witness the stunning McWay Falls, a waterfall that cascades onto a pristine beach. Big Sur is a haven for camping, hiking, and simply immersing yourself in the wonders of the natural world.
Monterey Bay: Aquatic Delights
Monterey Bay is a haven for marine life enthusiasts and ocean lovers. The renowned Monterey Bay Aquarium is a must-visit, showcasing various marine species and offering educational programs for all ages. Take a stroll along Cannery Row and enjoy the charming waterfront atmosphere while indulging in some of California's freshest seafood.
For those seeking adventure, consider going on a whale-watching tour. Monterey Bay is home to various whale species, including humpback and blue whales, making it one of the best places in the world for whale watching. Seeing these magnificent creatures breaching the surface is a memory you'll treasure forever.
Santa Cruz: The Surfing Capital
Santa Cruz is famous for its vibrant surf culture and stunning coastal scenery. The iconic Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk is a historic amusement park that offers a nostalgic trip back in time. Stroll along the Santa Cruz Wharf and enjoy fresh seafood with panoramic views of the coastline. For surf enthusiasts, catch some waves at Steamer Lane, one of California's most legendary surf breaks.
Nature lovers will appreciate the lush beauty of Natural Bridges State Beach, known for its stunning rock formations and tide pools. It's also a popular spot for watching monarch butterflies during their annual migration. Santa Cruz offers a perfect blend of outdoor adventure and laid-back beach town vibes.
San Luis Obispo: The Serene Oasis
San Luis Obispo, often referred to as SLO, is a serene oasis nestled amidst the natural beauty of the Central California Coast. Hike to the summit of Bishop Peak and be rewarded with panoramic views of the city and surrounding landscape. The historic and charming downtown area is perfect for a stroll, with boutique shops, art galleries, and farm-to-table restaurants.
You'll find the exquisite Edna Valley wine region just a short drive from SLO. Discover award-winning wineries and enjoy tastings of world-class wines against the backdrop of rolling vineyards. San Luis Obispo embodies the laid-back California lifestyle while offering a taste of the region's rich culture and natural beauty.
Pismo Beach: Sand Dunes and Sunsets
Pismo Beach is famous for its expansive dunes and picturesque sunsets. The Oceano Dunes State Vehicular Recreation Area is an off-roading enthusiast's dream, where you can rent dune buggies or ATVs for an adrenaline-pumping adventure. For a more tranquil experience, explore the Monarch Butterfly Grove during winter to witness thousands of monarch butterflies migrating to the area.
Sunset lovers will be captivated by the stunning views from the Pismo Beach Pier, where you can watch the sun dip below the horizon in a spectacular display of colors. The charming beach town also offers delightful shops and seafood dining options.
Carmel-by-the-Sea: Quaint Elegance
Carmel-by-the-Sea is a quaint and picturesque village with an artistic flair. Stroll along Ocean Avenue, lined with art galleries, boutiques, and charming cafes. The town's architecture is distinctive, with fairytale-like cottages and storybook charm.
With its soft white sands and mesmerizing views of the Pacific Ocean, Carmel Beach is a peaceful retreat for beachcombers and picnickers. Nearby, Point Lobos State Natural Reserve offers hiking trails that wind through cypress groves and provide stunning vistas of the rugged coastline.
The Central California Coast is a treasure trove of scenic beauty and natural wonders. From the dramatic landscapes of Big Sur to the marine delights of Monterey Bay and the charming towns of Santa Cruz, San Luis Obispo, Pismo Beach, and Carmel-by-the-Sea, this region offers a diverse array of experiences for travelers and nature enthusiasts alike. So, pack your bags and embark on an unforgettable journey to explore the most scenic areas of the Central California Coast. You won't be disappointed by the breathtaking beauty that awaits you.
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Amos 9:1-15 LSB
[1] I saw the Lord standing beside the altar, and He said, “Strike the capitals so that the thresholds will quake, And break them on the heads of them all! Then I will kill the rest of them with the sword; Not one of them who can flee will flee, And not one of them who can survive will escape. [2] “Though they dig into Sheol, From there will My hand take them; And though they ascend to heaven, From there will I bring them down. [3] “And though they hide on the top of Carmel, From there I will search them out and take them; And though they conceal themselves from My eyes on the floor of the sea, From there I will command the serpent, and it will bite them. [4] “And though they go into captivity before their enemies, From there I will command the sword that it kill them, And I will set My eyes against them for evil and not for good.” [5] ¶Now Lord Yahweh of hosts, The One who touches the land so that it melts, And all those who inhabit it mourn, And all of it rises up like the Nile And subsides like the Nile of Egypt; [6] The One who builds His upper chambers in the heavens And has founded His vaulted dome over the earth; The One who calls for the waters of the sea And pours them out on the face of the earth; Yahweh is His name. [7] ¶“Are you not as the sons of Ethiopia to Me, O sons of Israel?” declares Yahweh. “Have I not brought up Israel from the land of Egypt, And the Philistines from Caphtor and the Arameans from Kir? [8] “Behold, the eyes of Lord Yahweh are on the sinful kingdom, And I will destroy it from the face of the earth; Nevertheless, I will not totally destroy the house of Jacob,” Declares Yahweh. [9] “For behold, I am commanding, And I will shake the house of Israel among all nations As grain is shaken in a sieve, But not a kernel will fall to the ground. [10] “All the sinners of My people will die by the sword, Those who say, ‘The calamity will not overtake or confront us.’ [11] ¶“In that day I will raise up the fallen booth of David And wall up its breaches; I will also raise up its ruins And rebuild it as in the ancient days, [12] That they may possess the remnant of Edom And all the nations who are called by My name,” Declares Yahweh who does this. [13] ¶“Behold, days are coming,” declares Yahweh, “When the plowman will overtake the reaper And the treader of grapes him who sows seed; When the mountains will drip sweet wine And all the hills will melt. [14] “Also I will restore the captivity of My people Israel, And they will rebuild the desolated cities and live in them; They will also plant vineyards and drink their wine And make gardens and eat their fruit. [15] “I will also plant them on their land, And they will not again be uprooted from their land Which I have given them,” Says Yahweh your God.
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Swordtember : 13 : Corrode
As I put pen to paper, sitting within the ruined Elianian Palace atop the Emperor's Hill, I cannot help but feel compelled to make commentary on the state of the Imperial Capital in the modern day.
Following the city's sacking by the Alliance of Sixteen Clans, a scant ten years ago, ownership of the city has changed hands many times since.
The Sixteen Clans, as was their custom, did not do much damage to the homes and hovels of the city. Only the Seven Districts around the Emperor's Hill, where only the rich and the politicians were allowed to live, were put to the torch.
Famously, Hathus the Iron Bear forbade the soldiers under him from harming anyone who took shelter within any of the many temples in the Seven Districts.
Gallus Gregorius, a commander of the decimated city watch, was one of the first to claim ownership. He declared a state of martial law, rallied the remaining Imperial soldiers, blocked off the broken western gate, and announced that he would be Dictator Interregnum of the city and surrounding province.
His rule lasted a scant thirteen days, meeting its end when his second in command murdered him in his bed and declared himself Emperor.
The next three years were a tumultuous period for the city. Twenty one different warlords all sat upon the throne of the Emperor, even as the palace crumbled around him. As a child in the city, it was baffling to watch the empire corrode at the point of a sword. I am lucky that my family escaped the city after only one year of conflict.
I had believed firmly in the immortality of the Empire. I had never considered for a moment, even when the siege first began, that there was any true threat to the idea of the Empire. Indeed, even when the Emperor and the Senate and the generals were all killed, I did not believe it was possible for the Empire itself to die.
How wrong I was, dear reader.
Shortly after my family left the city, a second invasion came down from the north. Three clans of the Kolakhii had united and pushed into the decimated Imperial Heartland. Where the Sixteen Tribes had been gracious conquerors, the many wolves that followed in their wake were ravenous.
In the spring of 489 IC, the Kolakhii warhost arrived at the Capital and easily overwhelmed the defenders. The Western Gate had yet to be repaired, and they easily pushed through the breach left by the Sixteen Clans and began looting the city. It is said that half of all men of fighting age, regardless of whether they joined the defense of the city or not, were put to the sword.
And still, from my journeys and the many conversations I have had, a part of me feels as though it was not something that could have been prevented.
In my conversations with Hathus, one of the points he stressed repeatedly was that the Empire could have easily thwarted the Alliance of Sixteen Clans had it not been for the nature of Imperial Politics. He relayed to me the words of Flavius Rogelius Phanes, the Last Dragon himself.
"When brothers look upon one another with jealous eyes, they do not see the wolves circling the fire."
It is true that politics in the Empire had reached a point of absurdity. Even as the Sixteen Clans burned the countryside in vengeance for broken oaths, the Last Dragon and the other leaders of the military were kept in check by their rivalries with one another. The Senate refused to act, convinced that the problem could be handled with ease, even as the Alliance encircled the city.
Following the sacking of the city at the hands of the Kolakhii, the city entered the period now named the Imperial Collapse. As various regions at the fringes of the empire declared independence, the many legions which had begun traveling to the Imperial Capital against standing orders from the (now nonexistent) Senate were pinned down in various rebellions. It would not be until five years after the fall of the city before a single exceptionally battered regiment of infantry arrived at the gates.
With the territories in widespread rebellion, the military in shambles, and there being no clear transition of power for either the Emperor or the Senate; even loyalists throughout the Empire were forced to concede that there would be no restoration.
And thus began the slow transition from provincial authorities to various competing interim governments, followed by the emergence of many new successor states.
All the while, never did a hand leave the hilt of a sword.
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Two more crypto bills in the US: Law Decoded, July 17–24
Last week was marked by two new legislative initiatives for the crypto industry in the United States. Senator Jack Reed sponsored a bipartisan bill that would tighten Know Your Customer (KYC) and Anti-Money Laundering (AML) regulations and sanctions requirements for decentralized finance (DeFi). The bill would subject DeFi operations to the same requirements as “other financial companies, including centralized crypto trading platforms, casinos, and even pawn shops.”
Two major crypto lobbying groups slammed the legislation: Coin Center and the Blockchain Association. The former released separate statements describing the legislation as a “messy,” “unworkable” and “unconstitutional” way of regulating DeFi. Kristin Smith, the CEO of the Blockchain Association, echoed Coin Center’s concerns and described the new legislation as redundant. Smith said federal law enforcement agencies already have the tools and expertise to combat this “relatively small but important issue.”
Republican House Agriculture and House Financial Services Committee members introduced the Financial Innovation and Technology for the 21st Century Act. The bill gives the Commodity Futures Trading Commission (CFTC) jurisdiction over digital commodities, clarifies the authority of the Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC), and creates a process for digital assets deemed initially securities to be sold as commodities. Representatives French Hill and Dusty Johnson, who are among the bill’s cosponsors, sent a letter to SEC Chair Gary Gensler a day before the bill’s introduction criticizing the agency’s so-called “regulation by enforcement” of the crypto industry.
Multiple spot crypto ETF applications go to Federal Register
Spot Bitcoin exchange-traded fund (ETF) applications from several firms have been published in the Federal Register, moving them one step along in the SEC process. The Federal Register received notices of proposed rule changes allowing Bitcoin ETF applications from BlackRock, Fidelity, Invesco Galaxy, VanEck and WisdomTree. Publishing the applications in the official journal of the U.S. government gives the SEC a window of opportunity to accept or reject the request, extend the time allowed or open the application for public comment.
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Kuwait bans crypto and virtual asset transactions
The state of Kuwait is the latest jurisdiction to ban virtually all operations involving cryptocurrencies like Bitcoin (BTC). Kuwait’s main financial regulator, the Capital Markets Authority (CMA), issued a circular on the supervision and issuance of virtual assets in the country. In the circular, the CMA confirmed the commitment to “absolute prohibition” on major use cases and operations involving cryptocurrencies, including payments, investments and mining. The circular also bans local regulators from issuing licenses allowing firms to provide virtual asset services as a commercial business.
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Marathon shareholders file lawsuit against company’s top management
U.S.-based crypto mining company Marathon Digital is heading to court after its shareholders alleged that its CEO Fred Thiel, alongside other top executives, breached fiduciary duties, unjustly enriched themselves and wasted corporate assets. According to the legal team, the company’s management has been downplaying its problems, artificially inflating Marathon’s valuation, receiving excessive compensation, making lucrative insider sales, and receiving unjustifiably elevated bonuses based on false and misleading statements.
The shareholders aim to correct the company’s governance by strengthening the board’s supervision of operations, nominating at least four candidates from shareholders to the board and eliminating the previous procedure of directors’ elections.
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Trudeau defends appointment of cabinet minister's sister-in-law as interim ethics commissioner
Prime Minister Justin Trudeau is defending the appointment of senior Liberal cabinet minister Dominic LeBlanc's sister-in-law as Canada's interim ethics commissioner.
"The interim ethics commissioner has been a senior official in the ethics commissioner's office for over 10 years now. [She] first started under Stephen Harper, and has done excellent work under the previous ethics commissioner, including replacing him for stretches when he was on medical leave for some serious health problems," Trudeau told reporters on Friday, facing questions about the choice.
"And secondly, if there is any office in the country that understands how to manage conflicts of interests and ethical perception issues, it is that office there that has always done exceptional work at ensuring the confidence of Canadians," said Trudeau, who became the first prime minister to find himself on the wrong side of federal conflict of interest rules.
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On Tuesday, the Conflict of Interest and Ethics Commissioner's office quietly announced that Martine Richard would be taking on the role as interim commissioner. Richard has been a senior staffer in the office for a decade.
Though, as The Hill Times first reported, in her previous role within the office as senior legal counsel, she had to recuse herself from involvement in at least two investigations into Liberal ethics issues, due to a perceived conflict of interest.
An ethics screen remains in place to shield Richard from any future conflict of interest, according to the government.
The Conservatives were the first to cry foul over this appointment in the House of Commons, and on Friday, Conservative Leader Pierre Poilievre suggested in jest that the Liberals had become the "family and friends party, where they name friends, family members to protect them from accountability."
"What I'm worried about is that Liberals are going to run out of friends and family to name to these top positions… We've got almost 40 million people in Canada, are you telling me we can't find a single one that's not either a ski buddy of the prime minister, or a sister in law of one of his ministers? Give me a break," Poilievre said. "If you don't laugh about it, you'll cry."
Appearing alongside Trudeau on Friday, Dominic LeBlanc told reporters that he did not at all participate in the process that lead to Richard's appointment. Back in 2018 LeBlanc was found to have breached conflict of interest rules, in connection to granting an Arctic surf clam licence to a company that employed one of his wife's 60 first cousins.
Arguing at the time that he did not have a close relationship with the family member in question, LeBlanc said he "obviously didn't think that this was caught by the definition of relative or family in the act."
Richard is set to hold the role for six months, while "an open, transparent and merit-based selection process" gets underway to name the next permanent ethics watchdog following Dion's February retirement.
from CTV News - Atlantic https://ift.tt/2GFQz7a
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Whitehall Mansions is a five storey building located on the western shore of Msida Creek in Ta’ Xbiex, #Malta. The building is used as diplomatic offices by several countries including the British High Commission, embassies of Germany, Ireland, the Netherlands, Austria and Spain. IX-XATT TA’ TA’ XBIEX Ix-Xatt ta’ Ta’ Xbiex circumvents a hill where handsome villas overlook Marsamxett Harbour. When Napoleon’s French forces locked themselves inside the capital in 1798, Ta’ Xbiex was one of the sites from where the Maltese would keep their eyes and ears on the French invaders. HMS GREGALE & THE WRNS On th 29th of September 2007 the Coastal Forces Heritage Trust, in co-ordination with the Ta’ Xbiex Local Council, remembered the men and women of the Royal Navy and Allied Coastal Forces who were based at HMS Gregale during the Second World War. HMS Gregale consisted of Four Villas on the Ta’ Xbiex Terrace, one of which served as Headquarters for Captain Coastal Forces. The garages under the ramp served as workshops and the Whitehall Mansions was the base for the WRNS (Women's Royal Navy Auxiliary) after WWII to 1972. PILATUS BANK Infamously involved in a series of European money-laundering cases, the now defunct Pilatus Bank was located in the second floor of the Whitehall Mansions. The bank’s license to operate was withdrawn by the European Central Bank in 2018 over money laundering allegations. Pilatus Bank was launched in 2014 by, Seyed Ali Sadr Hasheminejad (Ali Sadr). Ali Sadr was arrested by the FBI on charges of breaching sanctions against Iran. Sadr was indicted in the U.S., but finally, the charges were dropped. However, the money-laundering charges in Malta continue. (at Ta' Xbiex) https://www.instagram.com/p/CmvYHDvIJjo/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
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Despite the passage of seven months behind the embarrassing episode of the January 6th Capitol Siege, the behind-the-scene perpetrators have yet to be caught.
Despite the Democratic effort to establish a committee to investigate the deadly event by dodging the bipartisanship after an initial failure, the Republicans are burning the midnight oil to save the former president.
Some Republican leaders have even started putting the blame on House Speaker Nancy Pelosi for the shameful event, although these accusations are not backed by any evidence or even a logical argument.
In their testimony to the House Select Committee, security officials have described the violence of the pro-Trump mob and how they were threatened by their service weapons and targeted by racist abuse.
While a large number of Republicans are protecting Trump, some of the more sensible of them are also opposing him to bring the responsible people to justice.
Top Republicans are Still Protecting Trump, Showing his Influence on the Party
Some of the Republicans blamed former President Donald Trump for the attack on the Capitol and took a stand against him and his mantra of false claims.
At the same time, top Republicans remained still loyal to the party chief and supporting him in spreading lies and urging people to come out to spread violence on the streets.
The House Select Committee recently conducted its first hearing, where harrowing testimony from Capitol Police Officers was recorded. House Republicans termed the hearing as a "sham" and "political charade." Many House Republicans, including the House Minority Leader Kevin McCarthy, did not tune in to the hearing.
House Speaker Nancy Pelosi rejected the names of Representative Jim Banks and Representative Jim Jordon for the Bipartisan Committee, citing their past statements and actions to impact the integrity of the Committee. This move was termed an abuse of power by the House Minority Leader.
Some of the Republicans also came out to deny the idea that they are supporting Donald Trump on violence. Representative Louie Gohmert rejected the idea that lawmakers were not interested in the investigation but also believes that it is wrong to term the Capital riot as the worst attack since the Civil War.
Representative Paul Gosar rejected the idea that the Select Committee was bipartisan, as it contains seven Democrats and only two Republicans. Representative Andrew Clyde compared the scenes from the January 6 attacks to a normal tourist visit. Similarly, Representative Matt Rosendale termed it as a simple security breach.
[caption id="attachment_8503" align="aligncenter" width="1000"] U.S. Capitol Police Sgt. Aquilino Gonell testifies during a House select committee hearing on the Jan. 6 attack on Capitol Hill in Washington[/caption]
Capitol Police Officers Crying Foul on the January 6 Episode
In their harrowing testimony, the four officers of the Capitol police related that they were afraid for their lives during the attack on the Capitol.
Sgt. Aquilino Gonell of the Capitol Police was defending the entrance of Capitol Hill when he was crushed by the protestors.
He said that he was running out of oxygen and thought that he was going to die. Representative Liz Cheney asked Officer Gonell if Trump's claim was true, that the protestors were all "loving people," to which the officer replied that he is still haunted by their hugs and kisses.
He also added that all of them said that former president Donald Trump sent them.
Metropolitan Police Department Officer Michael Fanone, who suffered a heart attack and a brain injury after being beaten up by the mob, was also present at the hearing. Fanone testified that he was not only beaten but was also called a traitor.
A Black police officer of the Capitol Police, Harry Dunn, said that he was repeatedly called by the N-word while protecting the Capitol.
Final Thoughts
While Republicans succeeded in slashing the efforts of assembling the commission, they were clear in the demand
s, i.e., they don't want to see Trump prosecuted.
Most of the Republicans are driven by fear and not loyalty when they put efforts to protect Trump.
For instance, seeing Trump's influence in the Republican primary, no member can afford to go against him.
Similarly, the Trumpism ideology is persisting in the Supreme Court as well, showing the circle of influence that Trump has in American politics.
As no Republican can afford to stand against white evangelical ideology and seeing Trump's influence on this group of people, men and women in red are putting their everything to protect Trump in the January 6 investigation to make their bid louder in the upcoming elections.
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Tippy, Tappy, Writing
I’ve just copy typed 1,000 words from Stephen King’s “It” to use in a writing workshop I’m running next week (16-17 July 2022, Other Worlds, Nottingham)
Yes, I know. I could just have photocopied the relevant pages. I might even have wandered into some dodgy place on the web to find a pirate copy of the book which I could then download, wipe free of all the viruses which came with it, and then copy and paste into my document. I did even consider narrating it.
But I went for good, old-fashioned, prop-the-book-open-in-front-of-you-and-get-on-with-it copy typing. It’s not something I’d done before, I figured it was the most legal way to prepare the material, and it was genuinely the simplest way to get the text I needed for the session. (And before you howl about piracy and copying, I have one phrase: Fair Dealing)
I used to write longhand so spent a fair amount of time typing up my own illegible scrawl. I can’t say it was an exercise I ever enjoyed, or from which I felt I derived any benefit; to the extent that a number of years ago I trained myself to write first drafts directly onto the computer and I’ve never regretted that self—bullying for a moment. Copy typing is tedious, wasteful, and unimaginative.
Except, and here’s the surprise for me, I was typing a scene I must have read ten or twenty times before (I do like “It”!) but because I had to read each sentence slowly, type it, check it, and then move onto the next line, I approached the text in a completely new way. How often can you say that about your favourite book? I had to include every punctuation mark, every capital letter, every italicised word. Within just 1,000 words I could appreciate how Stephen King created the scene, how he used different techniques to direct the reader’s emotions and build tension. In the short time it took to type up that passage I had a new relationship Stephen King’s writing. A more measured, intimate relationship.
Now, I’m not advocating you go out and type up “It” or “The Stand” to absorb Stephen King’s oeuvre in the same way serial killers have a tendency to cannibalise their victims (and I think at that point you would be breaching copyright law) although I am reminded that when Joe Hill was struggling to write what eventually became “Horns” he would type up a couple of pages from Elmore Leonard’s “The Big Bounce”, so maybe copy typing can have a place in the creative process. But as a purely unexpected bonus to preparing for the writing workshop, and as a trick to get you thinking about the mechanics of scene writing and how to dissect a scene you appreciate, it’s definitely a tool to keep in the box.
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Freedom convoy leader Tamara Lich arrested in Alberta, accused of breaching bail conditions | CBC News
Tamara Lich was re-arrested in Medicine Hat, Alberta, for violating the terms of her bail.
Lich was taken into custody Monday evening. Wilson, who spoke with Lich after her arrest, says she expects to be transported back to Ottawa in the next week.
One of Lich's criminal defense lawyers, Eric Granger, also confirmed Lich's arrest.
Granger says he has no reason to believe his client has done anything wrong and is "looking to learn more at this stage."
While it's not yet clear which bail conditions she is accused of breaching, there is speculation on social media that Lich might be in legal trouble over a Facebook photo that shows her beside a fellow convoy organizer who she was ordered to stay away from by a judge.
For her role as one of the organizers of the protest that shut down much of downtown Ottawa earlier this year, Lich faces charges of mischief, counselling mischief, obstructing police, counselling to obstruct police, counselling intimidation, and intimidation by blocking and obstructing one or more highways.
The RCMP confirmed Lich was wanted on a Canada-wide warrant for violating her release order, but they had no further information because the arrest was made by the Medicine Hat Police Service (MHPS).
The MHPS says it will not release information until Tuesday morning. The anti-COVID-19 restriction blockades gridlocked Ottawa for three weeks last winter as protesters parked trucks that blocked neighbourhood access and main arteries around Parliament Hill.
Prosecutors unsuccessfully sought to re-arrest Lich last month for allegedly violating her bail condition that she not support anything related to the Freedom Convoy.
Weeks after she was granted release in March, Lich was notified she'd been selected as a recipient of a freedom award, handed out by the Justice Centre for Constitutional Freedoms (JCCF), a legal organization and registered charity based in Calgary.
The Ottawa judge decided not to revoke Lich's bail and instead modified her conditions to allow her to travel to Ontario with the restriction that she not enter the capital's downtown core.
Lich's reasoning for wanting to travel back to Ottawa is protected by a court-ordered publication ban and cannot be reported.
But on June 17, the day after the freedom awards were presented, Stacey Kauder, who describes Lich as a friend, posted a photo to her Facebook page showing Lich with her husband and four other attendees at the JCCF gala.
To Lich's left is a man identified as Marazzo, a fellow convoy organizer with whom she was told not to speak unless her lawyer was present.
Friends of the two convoy organizers speculated on social media that Lich was allowed to have contact with Marazzo at the event because there were lawyers for the JCCF present who also represent Lich in her civil matters.
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